Curiosity Killed the Scribbles
by Mia M. Turner
Summary: Three year old Frankie Foster discovers why some doors are best left unopened. Based on the episode The Trouble With Scribbles.


**A/N: **This was just a random idea that popped into my head while watching The Trouble With Scribbles the other day. Pardon the shortness; I've never written in this section before (though I've been a fan of Foster's since the premiere of the pilot) so I'm going to start off with a drabble before I decide if I can really hit my stride in this section. As with every fiction I write, I'm a little nervous about putting this out there for all to see, so any constructive criticism is happily accepted.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

Frankie Foster wandered the halls of her grandmother's mansion aimlessly. She had just turned three no more than a few weeks ago, and she found curiosity was getting the best of her lately. With the house's endless hallways and countless flights of stairs, Frankie made it a bit of a challenge for herself to not leave any room undiscovered. Even visiting old rooms had become exciting since there was almost always a new imaginary friend coming or going into each one. She could often hear some of the older imaginary friends chuckling amusedly as she would poke around, and her grandmother would often encourage it. The only person in the entire house who seemed to have a problem with her constant snooping around was Mr. Herriman.

Why someone as eccentric and friendly as her grandmother would create a friend as uptight as Mr. Herriman was beyond Frankie. She had only just recently discovered that they were polar opposites. Mr. Herriman would often stay clear of Frankie, letting her grandmother take care of anything she needed and focusing mostly on running the house. Since her mother had died a short year ago, however, it seemed Mr. Herriman's new favorite activity was bossing her around. Always telling her where and where not to go in the house, telling her to keep her elbows off the dinner table, and, this annoyed her the most, insisting she only use one sheet of paper towel to dry her hands. Her grandmother persisted that he was only trying to be helpful since it was just the two of them now, and that he just "cared about her". She always ended it with that. But Frankie found it hard to believe her. It wasn't as though she could even remember her grandfather or either of her parents; why would it matter so much now? Not to mention the way he ordered her around was hardly endearing. Frankie often tried to shake it off with the assumption that she was just taking things the wrong way.

Today, she decided, she wouldn't get caught. She seemed to be doing a good job of avoiding him today; she'd been wandering around for at least an hour and there was no sign of Mr. Herriman anywhere. With this thought in mind, Frankie skipped confidently down a hallway she had just discovered that morning. She skidded to a halt in front of one door in particular, however. It wasn't much different than the doors surrounding it, save from a warning printed in bold letters on the front:

"DO NOT OPEN"

Frankie squinted a bit and sounded the words out to herself slowly. It took her quite some time, but she was finally able to form the sentence and repeat it out thoughtfully. And being the curious toddler she was, this was pretty much an open invitation. Frankie slowly approached the door, looked down the hall to be sure no one was coming, stood on her toes and…

"What on EARTH are you doing?!"

Frankie jumped three feet and whirled around, not needing to look up to know Mr. Herriman had caught her. She could feel his eyes on her though, and she looked up at him with her best 'so sorry' smile. He only shook his head disapprovingly and yanked her away from the door by the hood of her sweatshirt.

"I understand your reading comprehension may be somewhat lacking at your age, Miss Frances…" Frankie gave an annoyed sigh. She hated when he used words she didn't understand; she knew he was insulting her, but she rarely had any idea how he was doing it. "But I trust you can at least sound out a _few_ short words." Frankie looked up giving him her clearest 'huh?' face. Mr. Herriman only gave her a stern glare. "Stay away from this door. There's no reason for you to be near it." Frankie responded as she often did to his lectures, by sticking her tongue out. Mr. Herriman rolled his eyes at this. "If I find you near this door again, I _will_ tell your grandmother," he threatened before finally hopping off.

Frankie giggled quietly when she was certain he was out of earshot. He used that warning often, and it hardly qualified as threatening. In the rare circumstances when he actually _did_ go to the trouble of telling Frankie's grandmother what she had been doing "wrong", she would often say Mr. Herriman was only overreacting, or that Frankie was just doing what all girls do at her age. She couldn't think of a time her grandmother had actually punished her. (Mr. Herriman had sent her to her room more times than she cared to count, but that was another matter entirely.)

Frankie glanced down the hall again, checking to see if the coast was clear. She approached the door quietly, stood on her toes, and reached for the knob again. 'Always telling me what to do…' she thought to herself. 'I'm three whole years old now, I don't have to liste—"

Frankie's thoughts were immediately cut off as she turned the knob and swung the door open. Instantly, she felt her feet lift off the ground and the room quickly begin to disappear under a pile of… scribbles? Frankie's confusion was soon replaced with fear when she realized the entire hall was filled with the scribbles she had released from the closet. She glanced to her left to find Mr. Herriman, waist-deep in scribbles, hands behind his back, giving her a clear 'you're grounded for life' glare. Frankie could only give a sheepish smile and utter. "Sowwy Mr. Hewwiman…"


End file.
